


Boston's Finest

by badcircuit



Series: The Chyna Chronicles [1]
Category: The Town (2010)
Genre: Anal Play, Deepthroating, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Knifeplay, Light Dom/sub, PWP, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badcircuit/pseuds/badcircuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Officer Coughlin" versus Chyna White, one BAMF stripper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boston's Finest

I check myself out in the dressing room mirror one last time before I head out onstage to blow all of those barely legal bimbos out of the water. They can’t handle me, draped in all white everything:  long wig with blunt bangs, breakaway vest and booty shorts with a simple g-string beneath, thigh-highs with a lace trim, and high lace-up stiletto boots.  I am the fucking queen of this titty bar.  I am Chyna White, bitch.  Fine as the purest snow and not the kind that falls from the sky. 

All the young, dumb chicks are in a tizzy because those four Townie boys with more money than sense are in again.  Every time they come, it’s all out bump-snorting-off-ass-and-titties chaos.  I generally don’t have time for that shit but I have some stuff I need to buy so I’m going out to own those fuckers.

I hear the DJ run through my intro and when he drops “Lit Up” by Buckcherry—my official theme song—I step out on the runway like I own it.  I shake my ass and grind a little for the boys along each side of the stage to wild applause but my target is at the very end.  I drop down, thighs spread wide for a nice crotch flash, slide into a split, ease down onto my back and spread my legs again before pulling them over my head far enough to roll over back into another split.  The bills start flying right away like I knew they would and I know this fucking night is mine.  I’m on the move, crawling down towards them, giving everyone along the way some prime ass and barely contained tits.  I can hardly see those assholes for all the girls crowded around them.

As I grasp the pole and pull myself up, I take stock of the situation.  Only three of the stooges are down front; the fourth guy is at a quiet table over near the door, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.  He must be the babysitter.  Then there’s the chubby one, the ginger four-eyes, and the little buzz-headed bastard who’s always in the thick of it.  Right now he’s got his face shoved between a pair of Frankenboobs, looking happier than a pig in shit.  He’s got a fistful of bills and he can’t slide them in the g-strings fast enough.

He’s the one I want. 

The song changes to “Little T & A” by the Stones, smoking but short so I let them have it.  I stalk around and around the pole, gripping it with one hand before dropping down low and popping my ass a few times.  I bend all the way over and touch my toes and then I come back up, running my hands up my body and into my hair, body rolling to the beat.  I lean back against the pole, circling my hips, working my knees, and flashing my crotch.  I’m gratified to hear it getting quieter down there and when I sneak a peek to see what’s going on, Mr. Pig in Shit is shoving a girl to the side so he can get a clear look at me.

I reach up and rip open my vest, freeing my 100% natural handful, and snatch off the shorts too, revealing the g-string that barely covers what it’s supposed to.  I climb up the pole, do an air twerk spin into slow air run into a V pole straddle before a slow inverted one legged slide down into the splits and  floor pump—one, two, three, four times.    

He’s sitting forward now, completely focused on me. 

I crawl right down in front of him and lay back with my legs together up high and then I let them drop open, giving him an up close and personal view of the fine Brazilian work my esthetician does.   I roll over and twerk right in his face, so close I can feel his breath on me and then I spin around and shake my tits in his face too.  The song winds down and his hand comes up, clutching that wad of bills.  He splits it in two and holds one stack out and I oblige by squeezing my tits together around it.  When I thrust my hips forward and offer my g-string for the other stack, he smiles a twisted little smile before tucking the money under it, his fingers lingering and trailing lightly along the edge just above my pussy.  His gaze slides up to mine and then back down as he licks his lips.

Just like that, money isn’t the only thing I want from him. 

After a brief stop in the dressing room to freshen up and slip on a tight, white spaghetti strap mini-dress, I’m at the bar sipping my amaretto and Coke and counting my tips, thinking about how fast I lost control of the situation up there with one smirk from that fucking Townie punk.  I wanted the money and I got it, not just from him but from those other two in his crew, nothing less than tens from any of them.  That kind of cash can be an aphrodisiac for sure but there’s something else, something about him in particular, that has me getting wet all over again.

I’m not alone anymore and I know it’ll be him standing there when I turn around.  I try to gather all of my Chyna White badass bitchiness before facing him.  His eyes go immediately to my tits before running down and up again.  Of course, they’re mostly visible through the thin white material of my dress.  Let him fucking look. “Yes?” I say.

“VIP room,” he says, all swagger and no request.

“No, thank you,” I say.  “I’m a little busy right now.”  The boss’ll be pissed at me for turning down a loaded customer but there is no way I’m going into the VIP room with him.  I don’t fuck on the job and I’m this close to doing it.  The looks he’s giving me, that voice, that attitude is flipping all my switches.

“Stuck up bitch.  You wasn’t too good a minute ago.”  He knows.  He’s talking shit but smiling that filthy smile, like he can see every dirty thought I’m having about all the ways I want him to do me.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I say, my Chyna fabulousness coming out to play.  “But I don’t think you can handle all this.”  I give myself a smack on the ass for good measure.

“Whatevah.”  He gives me a parting once-over, sucking his teeth in disgust but smirking again because he knows he’s got my number.     

I breathe a huge sigh of relief when they finally roll out.  It was fucking stressful having to stop myself from going over there and telling him I changed my mind and could he please fuck the taste out of my mouth.

When I leave later that night, one of the security guys walks me out to my car.  I check the lot in my rearview like I always do, looking for unwanted company, and it’s all clear.  I let my mind wander back to that cocky little bastard and my body revs up from 0 to 120 in two seconds flat.  I even blow a stop sign in my neighborhood thinking about his thick, knobby fingers so close to my cunt, which was damp enough for any idiot to see at the time, and he definitely saw it.

Once I’m inside my place, I toss my jacket, snatch my wig off and peel away the fake lashes, but before I can get my boots unlaced some asshole starts pounding on the door.

“Police! Open up.”

Seriously?  Making my way back over to the door, I call out, “I think you have the wrong apartment.  I just got home.”

“This is the right number, miss.  Just open up so we can straighten this out.”

I slide the chain into the lock and crack the door open.  “What’s the problem?  And lemme see your badge.”  The light outside my place, which I reported to maintenance three days ago, is still flickering and dim, but I can make out the Boston PD insignia on the guy’s shirt collar although I can’t see his face under the shadow of his hat brim.  He turns so I can see his shield but I can’t read it in this light.  There’s something familiar about him…

“Look miss, just open up so we can settle this.”

“Where’s your partner?” I ask, trying to see behind him.

“I’m solo tonight.  I swear, miss, just open the door so we can clear this up and I’ll be on my way.”

I close the door again and go get my phone, punch in 911 without sending, and grab the knife I keep in my purse, just in case.

I open the door and he steps inside, into the light, and the first thing I see is that fucking smirk.  “You little prick…you followed me!” I say, making sure he sees the knife and phone in my hands.

“Not so little,” he says, grabbing his crotch and making sure I see the clear outline of his very hard, very impressive cock.  “Hey, put that shit down before somebody gets hurt.”

My eyebrows shoot up and I feel my blood pressure rising.  “You can try taking them but I won’t go down without a motherfucking fight.”

“Easy,” he says, his distracting hands up in a gesture of surrender.  “How ‘bout this?  You look me in the eye and tell me you don’t wanna fuck me, that you ain’t been thinkin’ about me givin’ it to you all night, and I’ll get the fuck out.”

I could do it.  I can lie with the best of them.  But I don’t.  I toss the knife and phone onto the couch and step right up to him.  In my boots, we’re eye to eye.  “Condoms or it’s not happening.”

He looks at me like I’m crazy.  “I ain’t fuckin’ stupid.”

I tip his hat back a little, stroke his badge.  “What’s all this?” I ask.

He plucks at one of my thin dress straps, eyeing my natural hair meaningfully.  “I like to play dress up too.”

Now it’s my turn to smirk at him.  “Fine.  So what’s the problem, Officer…”

“Coughlin,” he provides helpfully.

“What am I being accused of, Officer Coughlin?”

He looks me over again, eyes lingering on my tits.  “Solicitation, miss.  I’m gonna have to take you in.”

I do my best to look shocked.  “I would never do anything like that.  Please, Officer, I can’t go to jail.”

“Sorry miss, just doin’ my job.”  He turns me around and places my hands on the wall on either side of my head and proceeds to “frisk” me.  His hands feel like everything I imagined and more as he runs them down my arms then around to my tits, pausing to squeeze hard.  His rough skin snags the thin polyester of my dress as he works his way down.  “You got any concealed weapons?” he says, smug and dirty in my ear, before palming my cunt and stroking me through my sopping g-string.

“Absolutely not!” I say, going for offended, but it’s hard.   He’s hard, hard as a service revolver against my ass.  He’s not so subtly humping me and it’s goddamn hot.

“Cavity search,” he says.  He pulls my arms behind me and I feel my wrists being restrained with a zip tie.

“No way,” I protest, but he doesn’t listen.  He hikes my dress up, rips off the g-string and plunges a couple of fingers into me, working them around like he’s actually feeling for something.  He pulls out and circles my asshole with a slippery finger and laughs when I jump and gasp in shock.

“Please, Officer,” I beg, before he can go any further.  “I’ll do anything if you just let me go.”

He jerks me around and gives me a look that makes my clit throb.  “Why ain’t I surprised?”  He presses the wet finger between my lips and I suck my own juice from it.  “Those lips was made to suck cock.”

“Mmm,” I moan, still working his finger with my tongue.  He shoves me down onto my knees, yanks open his belt and pants and fists his cock with one hand and a handful of my hair with the other.  When I don’t immediately open my mouth, he gives my hair a tug hard enough to make my eyes water.  “Open up, bitch.  You’re gonna have to gimme a reason to let you off.”

I barely have a chance to take a breath before I’ve got a mouthful of cock.  He works it in and out, holding my head still and fucking my face, faster and deeper.  I can’t push him away or slow him down because my hands are still tied behind my back and it’s making me so hot I can feel the pussy juice running down my thighs.  I know my face is a mess of tears, mascara and smeared lipstick and I don’t fucking care. 

“Cocksucker,” he says, his voice thick with lust.  “You’re gonna take it all the way down.”  He stops thrusting and presses forward slowly, giving me a chance to relax my throat.  He’s guiding me, one fist around my gathered up hair like it’s a ponytail handle, the other clamped around my chin.  “That’s it.  Push, don’t suck.”

When he’s all the way down, I gag and struggle a little but a couple of slow, deep breathes through my nose and I’m good.  Lips kissing his balls and nose buried in his pubes, I can’t help glaring up him in triumph.  He pats my cheek a couple of times and pulls out.  “Nice,” he says.  “Again.”  All the way down, pause while he looks down on me with that fucking smirk, and out.  Again and again until my jaw starts to ache.  It’s all types of wrong and I fucking love it.

He knows I do and says so.  “I know you can’t get enough of gobbling this cock but I got places to be.”  He gets me up and manhandles me over to the couch.  He finds my knife there and chuckles evilly before running the flat of it over my hard nipples, across one collar bone and then the other, down one arm and along the hemline of my bunched up dress.  Grasping it, he slices up, splitting my dress in two and then cutting the straps so that slithers to the floor in a trashy little heap.  He cuts the zip tie, pops his shirt open, lets his pants drop around his ankles and sits back on the couch like he owns that shit.  “Dirty lap dance time, Miss White.  Get a fuckin’ rubber on me and hop on.”

I stare him down while I slide it on.  He’s still got his cop hat on, which is stupid sexy to me.  He’s working hard to look unaffected but sweat is dotting his upper lip and he’s clenching his jaw.  His cock is so hard it looks like it hurts.  When I go to swing a leg over his lap, he stops me and turns me around, reverse cowgirl style.  Balancing with one hand on his chest and with my stilettos gouging the couch cushions, I guide him into me and slide down until his bush is tickling my ass. We both moan; me at all of that hot cock stretching and filling me, him at the feel of my bomb-ass pussy wrapped around him like a warm, wet satin glove.     

“Fuck,” he grunts when I start to move.  I grind on him like I do for a lap dance, teasing.  “Quit playin’ around and ride me,” he says, seizing my tits and forcing me up and down.  It’s my turn to laugh but I do it.  I ride him slow and steady, rolling my hips and squeezing my cunt muscles until he starts to pant.  It’s so good I close my eyes and just go with the feeling, groaning every time his cock head strokes over my g-spot. 

“Fuck yeah,” he says, and then he’s grabbing me behind the knees, spreading me wide.  My booted feet are in the air and all I can do is hang on to the back of the couch as he pounds up into me. 

“Make yourself come,” he orders between grunts.  When I hesitate, he slows his pumps and gives my legs a bruising squeeze.  “Do it.  Now.”    

I was going to do it but I decide I like Officer Coughlin’s bad cop ways.  I like making him make me.  Still holding the couch with one hand, I tweak my nipples before playing with my pussy.  My clit is hard and I’m so ready to go off, it’s not going to take much.  I make a V with my fingers and slide them down, feeling his cock gliding in and out between them, my slippery flesh stretched to accommodate him.  Jesus, he’s fucking me so right it makes me dizzy.  I rub a drenched finger over my clit and go flying.

Before I can get my shit together, he’s got a rock hard arm wrapped around my waist and he’s lifting and rearranging me on my hands and knees, still buried balls deep inside me.  “My turn,” he says with a nasty chuckle.  He kicks one foot free of his pant leg, plants in on the couch next to my knee, grabs my hips and starts slamming into me again.

“Oh God, Officer Coughlin,” I moan.  “Fuck me just like that.”

“Who’s callin’ the shots here, miss?” he says.  “I’ll fuck you whatever way I want and you’ll like it.”   

“Yes,” I admit.  I drop my upper body down and tip my ass up, throwing it back at him.  I close my eyes and focus on the feel of him inside me, the harsh sound of his breathing, the slap slap slap of our damp skin as he fucks me his way, and I love it.

A wet touch on my asshole snaps me out of my fuck happy stupor.  “Hey,” I say, but of course he does what he wants, laying a hand on the back of my neck and pinning me down while he works his thick thumb into my ass.  The sudden shock and sting of it makes me clamp down on his cock. 

“Like that, huh?  You ready for somethin’ a little bigger?” 

I’m no back door virgin but the idea of Officer Coughlin nailing my ass the way he’s nailing my cunt both scares and excites me.  I make a sound that sets him off.  He slides the hand from my neck up into my hair and twists his fist in it, pulling me back into each thrust, controlling me with the hand there and the one gripping my ass, his buried thumb making me need something I didn’t know I wanted.

“Jesus Fuckin’ Christ, you want it, don’t you?  You want me to wreck that ass like I’m wreckin’ this pussy.”

“I did say anything, Officer,” I manage to get out.

He laughs and pulls me nearly upright, his rhythm going erratic.  “Fuck,” he says, his voice gruff and low.  “That’s it.  That’s it right there.”  A couple more strokes and he comes with a groan, collapsing on top of me and crushing me into the cushions.

Just when I think he’s fallen asleep and I’m going to suffocate, he pulls his thumb out of my ass and rolls over onto the floor, all sweaty and half-dressed, smirking up at me like the bastard he is.  “I handled you, Miss Chyna Badass White.  Fuckin’ admit it.”     

I get up to go find some clothes, bringing my stiletto down dangerously close to his balls.  “I’m still walking so that’s debatable, Officer.”

When I come back out from my room, he’s fully dressed and straightening the cop hat on his buzzed head.  “Thanks for your cooperation, miss.”  That pursed lip thing he does when he looks at me makes me want to jump him all over again.

“Whatever,” I say.  “Just doing my part as a law abiding citizen.”

I walk up to him and fix the collar of his jacket.  Now that I’m barefoot I have to look up at him and it gives me a little thrill.  Dropping character, I ask, “So what other costumes do you have, Mr. Coughlin?  Is it really Coughlin?”

“Yeah, but just Jem is fine,” he says, checking out my bare face and t-shirt and boxer shorts PJs.  Without all the war paint, I get carded regularly.  “And you don’t even wanna know.”

“I think I do.  Maybe you can drop back in and surprise me some time.”    

  

 


End file.
